


Woe

by SebDoesWords



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst, Geralt dies on a contract, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Game(s), Regis is left behind, over 100 years after b&w, really it's just a ton of depressing shit :/
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-23 03:53:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23005309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SebDoesWords/pseuds/SebDoesWords
Summary: Flames burned brightly in the dark night, sparks drifting up into the sky that was so vast and had once seemed so fascinating. Now Regis found it held nothing for him at all.Regis knows the Lullaby of Woe by heart, but when Geralt, his lover of over a century, dies during a contract, its words gain a devastating new meaning.
Relationships: Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Comments: 29
Kudos: 100





	Woe

**Author's Note:**

> I got this idea while listening to Lullaby of Woe from the A Night to Remember cinematic, so listen to that song while reading for full effect.

_For the Witcher, heartless, cold_

_Paid in coin of gold_

_He comes, he'll go, leave naught behind_

_But heartache and woe_

_Deep_

_Deep_

_Woe_

Flames sparked to life, engulfing the Witcher’s body and drowning out the words, the tune that had been repeating in Regis’ head. He clutched the medallion in his hand, hard, the edges of it digging into his skin. As he stared into the flames and the slowly disintegrating corpse of the one he’d loved beyond rhyme or reason, Regis searched within himself for … something. Anything.

The Witcher had made him feel young. Giddy and happy and _alive._ Now his body was heavy with memories and looming eternity, and all he was left feeling was weariness, and oh so deep, deep woe.

Flames licked at skin, melting features that had once been so familiar and comforting into a mirror image of a time long ago and far away. A distant ache, a memory his body had never quite managed to forget stirred in Regis as he stared and stared at the pyre, the flames, the love of his life.

They had spent decades together, more than a century, but looking back, it seemed like entirely too short a time – like no time at all. And it was, in a way, to a higher vampire blessed and cursed with life beyond nature. They had been happy. Some days more so than others, but they had been together, and they had worked out well. Until the end, when one stopped working entirely.

Flames burned brightly in the dark night, sparks drifting up into the sky that was so vast and had once seemed so fascinating. Now Regis found it held nothing for him at all.

No witcher had ever died in his bed. Regis knew that, and yet he had hoped against hope for an exception to prove the rule. It had not come to pass, and deep down Regis had known it wouldn’t. The Witcher’s death had not been heroic. Not even ironic. He had not been cut down by a vampire, but instead succumbed to a pack of drowners in a cave far off from civilization. Regis’ ravens had not been quick enough. _Regis_ had not been quick enough. The Witcher had already been cold and dead by the time he arrived, his amber eyes hollow and empty and staring up into Regis’, but never meeting their gaze.

Flames died down as hours passed and the vampire looked on, still and cold with not a single breath disturbing his frame, filling his lungs to remind him he was alive. So devastatingly alive.

Regis knew he should have waited for the Witcher’s friends before laying him to rest. For the sorceress, the wolves, those that remained. But he could not bear it. Could not bear to look at them, to speak with them and witness their pain. He could not bear to share his Witcher, his wolf, his heart.

Flames went out as Regis thought back. What the Witcher had liked about his trade had always been to help people. Saving those in need. It was a legacy Regis was not ready to let die. Finally, he stirred and adjusted the leather belts slung over his chest, lightly jostling the swords on his back. Silver and steel. Both for monsters.

He looked down, running his thumb over the wolf head medallion and pretending to feel it as he so often had, warmed up from resting against Geralt’s skin. With finality, he pulled it over his head and let the new, unfamiliar weight settle on his chest.

Regis did not look back as he set off on the Path.

He had an eternity to kill.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry :/


End file.
